C. Approximately 5,419 years later, Richard Chizmar has invented an entirely new genre of literature with Chasing the Boogeyman . And then my path crossed this book, which is just a perfect true crime read, only without the guilt because it is just a bunch of brainwaves of a fantastic author!

Chizmar does not shy away from admitting his own fascination with the macabre began to lead him down this dark rabbit hole, and this is perhaps the truer “descent” of the narrative, as we are drawn inexorably towards an admiration of total evil. the 1990 book ended with the crime still unsolved, and this updated version provides closure: an arrest, a confession, and an interview with the killer. This final “interview” is harrowing reading, brilliantly written, and clearly inspired by the likes of Bundy and Gein. If you like an out-of-the-box compelling, tension fueled, suspenseful, and terrifying story that blends horror and true crime.

They represent a duality that runs through the whole novel: a night and day cycle that seems to represent the alternation between the conscious and unconscious mind. I actually stay away from true crime because I can't handle knowing about the ways that real people have suffered. Again, this felt like a memoir, and even though he was totally obsessed with the murders they still seemed to take a back seat to his reminiscing about his youth.

This is a slow-paced yet suspenseful read, especially as the tension between the narrator and the killer builds. You can change your choices at any time by visiting Cookie preferences, as described in the Cookie notice. Amid preparing for his wedding and embarking on a writing career, he soon finds himself thrust into a real-life horror story. The lines between Chizmar the author and Chizmar the character are blurry and that added to the story's sense of realism. Many have classified the novel as horror, but this particular Constant Reader needs more than a serial killer nicknamed the Boogeyman to feel any twitches or tingles.

Naked tree branches reached out as you walked past, skeletal fingers hungering for your touch, and packs of fallen leaves crunched beneath your wandering feet, their boundless brethren skittering past you in the chill autumn breeze like miniature ghosts haunting the landscape.